Knights of Honor Books 1-10: A Medieval Romance Series Bundle

by Alexa Aston

  Screams filled the air as those who’d run for the marsh began sinking in its mire. Men called out in terror as they began to be sucked under and drowned. Hal knew they were lost, as did those who had remained behind, not engaging with Derby’s men.

  Those left now faced Derby’s army without a leader. Hal spied Henry Bolingbroke riding in his direction and realized it would be up to him to surrender in shame to the earl.

  As Derby approached, Hal rode out toward the youngest of the Lords Appellant. They met halfway and halted their horses.

  “My lord.” Hal bowed his head in submission.

  “De Montfort.” Derby studied him. “So you were the king’s errand boy, sent to gather this rabble.” The handsome earl’s smug words cut Hal to the quick. The nobleman was wholly in control of the situation and arrogant enough to be enjoying it.

  “I don’t suppose you would allow us to retreat,” Hal ventured. “There are few of us left. We would pose no threat to you and your men.”

  “Nay, my lord,” Derby responded. “You are canny enough to still find a way to lead these men to my cousin and unite with the royal army. I think not.”

  Hal thought the earl looked bored—and disappointed that no bloodshed had occurred.

  “What would you have us do?” he asked, staring down the newest member of the Lords Appellant.

  Derby met his eyes for a long moment then looked at the line of troops still standing there. “Lay down your arms, all of you that are left. Strip away any armor that you wear.” The nobleman’s voice carried across the cold, windless day.

  At that command, Hal noted every man immediately responded to the authority and leadership before them. All forms of weaponry and armor began being tossed to the ground, the thud of steel and metal hitting the hard ground sounding like thunder rumbling in the distance.

  When it finally grew quiet, Derby addressed the group again, shouting, “Return to your homes. I order you never to take up arms again in the king’s name.”

  Disgust filled Hal. Without a single blow, the new army dissipated as men turned their backs and shuffled away from the scene.

  Hal asked the nobleman, “And what should I do, my lord? You are aware that I am a member of the royal guard. I must return to see to the king’s safety—even if he is to be locked away inside the Tower of London.”

  It surprised him when the earl dismounted and indicated for him to do the same. Hal threw a leg over and landed on the ground. He took a few steps toward Derby, who pulled his helm from his head. Hal followed suit. Up close now, he could see the nobleman’s high cheekbones and calm brown eyes. Though he wore a beard, Hal still saw traces of the skin disease that disfigured a portion of Derby’s face.

  With an almost fatherly look, the earl said, “Nay, I cannot allow you to return to the king.”

  “What?” Hal had sworn an oath. Just because he had acted as the king’s messenger, it was imperative for him to return to his duty.

  “I have great respect for you, Sir Hal. The de Montfort name stands for loyalty. Bravery. The best of what England has to offer.” A frown creased his brow. “I will confide in you that ’twill get ugly in the weeks ahead for my former playmate. I will do all I can to see that Richard keeps his head, for I have a deep and abiding love for my cousin. We spent a great deal of our childhood together since our fathers were brothers. I feel as close to Richard as a brother could, especially since we were admitted together to the Order of the Garter. Our bond is one which is unbreakable.

  “But charges of treason will be issued by my uncle, Gloucester, and the other Lords Appellant. Executions and exile will occur for those closest to our king. You are a good man from what I know. I wouldn’t wish to see you caught up in the nastiness of court politics.”

  “Are you saying there’s to be a new king?” Hal demanded, wondering if the Lords Appellant would have the audacity to depose Richard. If they did, Henry Bolingbroke, the Earl of Derby, would be a strong contender to become that new ruler. Young, yet seasoned. Intelligent. Fearless. First cousin to the present king. If so, ’twould mean a new royal house and a new day for England.

  Hal had always thought Richard foolish to play favorites and alienate the old guard at court. He wondered if it would come to the monarch losing not only his throne—but possibly his life.

  “Let me protect you,” Derby continued. “You—and my cousin—as best I can.”

  “You would do what?” Hal boldly asked, not wanting any favors from this enemy.

  The young nobleman gave him a sad but determined look. “I will ask you, too, to lay down your weapons and not fight your way back to the king. As of this moment, you are no longer a member of the royal guard, Sir Hal. You have escaped that fate as your two brothers did before you.”

  When Hal failed to move, Derby said firmly, “Strip off your armor. Leave your weapons and even your horse. Go home, Hal. Go home.”

  Anger mixed with humiliation filled Hal as he proceeded to do as commanded, thousands of Derby’s soldiers watching him silently from afar. He had dreamed of the very day he could leave the king’s service but never thought it would happen in shame and disgrace. Defiance filled him as he told Derby, “I swore an oath to protect the king,” and slammed his cuirass to the dirt.

  “I tell you that time has passed. I will be the one to keep Richard safe from the other Lords Appellant.”

  “You would challenge your own uncle who leads this pack of wolves?” Hal shook his head. “Gloucester is more than twice your age, with plenty of courtiers in his corner.”

  “True,” Derby admitted, “but above all, you must remember—I am my father’s son. And not only the king’s cousin,” he said softly, “but also his friend.”

  Derby gave him a long look. “Despite what you believe, I ask that you trust me, de Montfort. Let the Lords Appellant draw their blood. Rid themselves of Richard’s favorites, whom they consider their enemies. I will see my cousin is kept safe from harm.” He paused and added, “I have already sent word abroad so that my father will return and help remedy this situation. You know in all these years since the old king’s death, the Duke of Lancaster has stood by his nephew, the king. I promise you Father plans to do so again. And no matter what you think, I, too, still stand by Richard’s side, despite having joined the Lords Appellant.”

  Hal considered Derby’s words. Lancaster had never tried to usurp the throne during the ten years Richard had ruled as king. He had remained loyal while keeping the king’s critics at bay. From what Hal knew of Derby, the young nobleman was also a man of his word, as his father, Lancaster, had always been.

  Still, Hal chafed as he removed the last bit of armor and dropped it at his feet. He glanced at his sword lying forlornly on the ground, hating that he must give up the elegant steel that had been presented to him during his Oath of Knighthood Ceremony.

  He bent and handed the sword to the man before him as his final concession.

  “I pledge to return this to you one day, Sir Hal. For now, go home to your parents. When the time is right and our king returns to court, I will tell him to send for you. Your sword will await you, though I cannot guarantee that your place in the royal guard will.”

  “May I keep the baselard that rests within my boot? I am loath to undertake a long journey by foot with no protection from highwaymen.”

  Derby nodded. “You may.” He placed a hand on Hal’s shoulder. “I admire your courage and conviction. Please give my regards to Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn.”

  With that, the earl replaced his helm and remounted his horse. He reached for the reins of Hal’s mount and rode toward the cheering troops. Hal stood and watched as orders were issued and the army turned from him and marched away. Though he longed to rush to the king’s side, he had given his word to the earl. Above all, his own father had taught Hal that a man’s word of honor must always take priority. His heart heavy, Hal turned south. Toward Kinwick.

  Toward home.

  Chapter 3

 
Whitley Castle

  Emptiness filled Elinor as Jasper’s words from yesterday echoed in her mind.

  “Your father is dead. The Baron of Nelham no longer can hurt you. You might finally be able to go home, Elinor.”

  Numbly, she stirred the fire as she thought of the look of hope on Jasper’s face when he broke the news to her. News that had meant nothing.

  She barely remembered what her father looked like. A tall, vague shadow flitted through her mind but she could no longer see the face that went along with it. Elinor remembered he was large and loud and seemed magnificent whenever he entered a room yet she couldn’t have told anyone what color his hair or eyes were or what his voice sounded like.

  Too many years had passed since he’d banished her from the keep.

  Each year on this very day, she would take the blade that Jasper had given her and carve a small notch into the trunk of a tree that stood near their cottage. It signified that she turned another year older. She could remember the date of her birth since it had happened two days after Christmas, which had recently passed. Now, her father had died the day after that holy day.

  Elinor felt a deep void inside her at the news. She stood and retrieved her dagger from her boot. Not bothering to drape her extra tunic over her for warmth, she slipped from the cottage and went to the large oak tree, running her fingers over the notches from the previous years, counting aloud as she touched each one. Then she carved the latest into the trunk and stood back.

  Ten and six notches in all. Ten and six years since she had been ordered from her home. That meant she had turned two and twenty.

  Jasper did not know she kept track of the passing years in this manner. If it didn’t concern his beloved raptors, he cared very little—except for Elinor. He’d taken responsibility for her long ago. She’d never been lavished with love by Jasper but at least he’d proven himself trustworthy to her, unlike her parents, who’d given her life and gone on with their own, her mother desperately trying to birth a boy while her father ignored both of them.

  She said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Virgin for Jasper’s care of her. Jasper felt it important that she continue to pray even though she had never attended mass in all the years since her exile. When she first came to him, he had said prayers with her each night before she fell asleep. Elinor had kept to the habit and found herself speaking to the Virgin occasionally, almost as if the Holy Mother watched over her.

  That would change today. Jasper had insisted that they go to the funeral mass that would be said for the Baron of Nelham this morning in Whitley’s chapel. For the first time in years, Elinor would be in the midst of others.

  The thought frightened her.

  She had sometimes seen other serfs and servants from afar but had never drawn close in order to speak to any of them. A few times, she had traipsed through the woods, trying to catch a glimpse of Jasper and their falcons when a hunt occurred. She’d caught glimpses of various nobles riding by so swiftly that their images blurred together. Even if they’d come to a halt, she doubted she would have recognized the man who sired her.

  Elinor touched her fingers to the notches in the tree again, wondering if she would be here with Jasper this time next year. Or would she finally be allowed to return to the keep after all this time now that her father was dead?

  She knew her father had never remarried because Jasper kept her informed of what he heard and saw when he went to the castle. Vaguely, Elinor remembered a cousin, a boy a few years older than she was, who had visited Whitley a few times. She supposed he would be the one to inherit the title and estate. It saddened her that she could not even remember his name.

  The only person she still recalled clearly was Eunice. The woman had been a servant in the keep, someone Elinor’s mother trusted. She recalled Eunice’s face as she broke the news to the baron about the baroness’ death and how there would be no heir. That was what had set off her father’s rage.

  Thank the Living Christ that Jasper had stepped forward to claim her, for if he hadn’t? Elinor had no idea what would have become of her.

  Shivering, she returned to the cottage and went to stand beside the fire. She shoved her hands close to the flickering flames, willing the warmth to fill her.

  Jasper coughed and stirred from his pallet in the corner of the room. He sat up, sleepily rubbing his eyes, his sparse hair sticking out in several directions. Elinor stifled the laugh that threatened to bubble up from her as the falconer tossed aside his blanket and nodded at her. He left the cottage to relieve himself and greet their pair of falcons, Cleo and Horus.

  While he was gone, she readied some bread and set the crock of raspberry jam on the small table. Lifting their two mugs from the hook on the wall, she poured each of them some ale so they might break their fast. Something deep in her memory told her it was wrong to do this before they went to mass but her grumbling belly assured her she acted in the proper manner.

  Jasper joined her and they ate in silence. Elinor wondered if any other memories might surface once she entered the bailey and saw others up close.

  “Once we finish, we’ll need to be off,” Jasper said gruffly.

  When she’d first come to live with him, his brusque manner took some getting used to. She had rarely been around men other than briefly in the great hall during meals and had never spoken to any of them. Her day had been spent with her mother and the women servants in the keep. But she quickly adapted to Jasper’s ways, instinct telling her that this man cared for her when no one else had.

  Elinor took the last bite of bread and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her tunic. Rising, she took their empty cups and rinsed them in the small tub of water Jasper had brought in last night.

  Sensing his eyes on her, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  The falconer frowned. “I hadn’t thought about your clothing. The way you dress.”

  Elinor glanced down at the wool tunic of brown and dark pants. Every now and then, Jasper returned with something new for her to wear. She had no idea how to sew and never asked him where the clothing came from. Looking back at him, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  He sighed. “I’ve dressed you as a boy all these years, Elinor. ’Twas easier for you to learn how to be around the falcons.”

  She looked again at the clothing she wore. A flash from long ago reminded her that she used to wear something very different when she was a child of the nobility. Something she couldn’t even recall the name of since it had been so long since she had dressed in it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she reassured him. “I go to the chapel merely to pay my respects to the baron.” She didn’t add that she had no respect for the man who’d turned her out from her home. The only reason she would accompany Jasper today was because he insisted she go and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Giving him a pitying glance since she believed she saw shame in his eyes. Elinor said, “You will not be judged by what I wear.”

  “But you will be,” he said, sorrow crossing his face. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I have always tried to do my best by you, my girl. I have taught you everything I know about birds. It troubles me that I am letting you down.”

  “I appreciate how you took me in and made me understand falcons. I know them better than I do people,” she admitted. “As for what others might think of me, it matters not, Jasper.” She kissed his leathery cheek. “Come, ’tis time to leave for Whitley Castle.”

  Elinor pulled a larger, heavier tunic over her in order to ward off the biting winter wind. They stepped outside the cottage and started for the castle, which rose in the distance. As she looked at the clouds in the sky, she thought snow would dust the ground by the end of the day.

  Walking in companionable silence, they arrived at the open gates of the castle three-quarters of an hour later and walked through. A prickling teased her neck and hairline. The outer bailey had an air of familiarity about it. The prickling increased as they entered the inner bailey. They
passed the blacksmith shed. The stables. The training yard.

  Then the keep appeared. Elinor felt as if someone had punched her hard in the belly, causing all the air to rush from her. She found it difficult to breathe. She stopped in her tracks and then pulled cold air deeply into her lungs, forcing it in and out until she calmed.

  Everyone in sight had their heads down in protection from the wind as they hurried to the stone chapel that stood next to the keep. She and Jasper followed the crowd and enter the holy structure. She imitated his gesture as he dipped his hand into water and made the Sign of the Cross, remembering doing this many years ago. The cold penetrated the chapel and people huddled together, no one speaking.

  Until a buzz that sounded like a bee tickling her ear began to hum low throughout the place.

  Elinor realized that many eyes were on her. Her skin heated with embarrassment as she skirted a group standing near her and she slipped into the corner, away from the others who had gathered for the mass. She dropped her eyes to the floor, uncomfortable by the silence that now blanketed the room.

  She had told Jasper that she didn’t care what others thought of her—and had believed the words when she spoke them. Yet, being in the midst of those who lived and worked at Whitley, she suddenly felt very different.

  Jasper joined her, putting an arm about her. She huddled next to him for warmth and reassurance.

  The atmosphere inside the chapel changed, causing Elinor to glance up surreptitiously. She watched a man and woman enter, both dressed in rich furs. The man held his head high with pride, while the woman glanced about haughtily. The couple strolled to the front of the chapel.

  “’Tis your cousin, Sir Nigel Swan,” Jasper said quietly. “And his wife, Lady Rohesia.”

  Elinor could not fault her cousin for being proud. He was the new Baron of Nelham, probably something he’d always longed for. Nigel would have known for several years that he would assume the title upon his uncle’s death since no male child had been born. Something about Lady Rohesia bothered Elinor, though. She had looked out at the people of Whitley as if they were not worthy to even be present at the former baron’s funeral mass.